sound
by agentcalliope
Summary: In the dark, she sits by his side and listens to him breathe. (she would be lying if she said this was the first time)


Like the universe, it starts with a bang.

Her target falls. Beads of sweat line her forehead, but she doesn't care. She doesn't even blink before cocking her rifle, setting her mark upon another. Doesn't hesitate pulling the trigger, watching with dead eyes as another drops. One by one by one, they fall.

Riza is nothing, only a pawn in this game.

Bang.

Bang.

BANG bang _bang_

 _ **bang**_ —

Click.

Sighing, Riza reaches into her pocket. Extracts more bullets, reloads her instrument. Hoists the rifle back on her shoulder, peers into the scope, and plays her song again.

This is it:

Breathe in, breathe out.

Bang.

This is her melody.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Bang.

This is her music.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Bang.

This is all she's ever been good for.

Breathe.

 **Bang.**

Breathe.

 **Bang.**

Breathe.

 **Click.**

(The sound of silence, after she's done, is deafening.)

She would be lying if she said this wasn't the first time she's woken up with a gasp, hands trembling, mind racing.

The wound on her neck aches.

She would be lying if she said this wasn't the first time that she's immediately sat up in her bed, her shoulders hunched, breathing ragged. That she's pushed aside the covers, and with careful footsteps walked over to where he lays. Riza pauses only for a moment before she lowers herself into the chair beside his bed, and listens to him breathe.

She needs to make sure he's still breathing, just as she needs to breathe herself.

"Lieutenant."

Riza blinks, not expecting him to be awake. Her throat hurts, and feels dry when she tries to swallow.

"Yes, Colonel?" She says, her voice creaking. "I'm sorry to wake you."

"No, I've been awake for some time." Mustang answers. "I'm guessing it's still night?"

"… Yes sir."

"Can't sleep?"

"No sir."

The sound of silence, as it rolls into the room, is thunderous.

"Do you remember," she begins slowly. "Do you remember when we first met?"

"Of course. We were children."

Children, he says. Innocent, he means.

"Yes sir." Riza agrees. "Children."

"What about it? You're finally going to confess that you're the one who put salt in my tea when we were thirteen?" She hears his grin through his voice, and knows that he also hears the sadness and the pain and the ache carried in her own.

What a stubborn fool. A stubborn, blind fool.

Why can't he ever worry about himself.

She squeezes her eyes shut. The girl that she used to be, the boy Mustang used to be. Just a student and his teacher's daughter, a child and her father's apprentice. Her demons scream that Truth is cruel but Time is crueler and here she is sitting by a blind man's side, and he's trying to comfort _her_. Riza keeps her eyes closed, and tries to remember a different time in a different place, with different people. A different song, a different melody. A tune that never haunts her nightmares. Music that requires her to take a breath, but not another's.

She begins to sing.

Riza hears herself managing to sing although the wound in her neck throbs, and the words are faint in her memory. She hears how her voice wavers, heavy under the burden her father has placed on her and her country has placed on her, and time has placed on her. Hears the rustle of his sheets as Mustang sits up, and she knows, she _knows_ , that he's watching her with his sightless eyes.

Riza hears her voice give up, trailing off because she can't do it _she can't_ do _it_ can't do it—

Hears his deep baritone voice, steady and strong. It's loud enough to help her carry her melody, but soft enough that it doesn't drown her out. They sing the melody together, the harmonies and dynamics sounding just right. And when they reach the end, he drops out, and lets her finish on her own.

Riza blindly reaches for his hand.

(Roy takes it, gently)

"You would sing that when you thought no one was listening." He says, his voice low and soft, cutting through the dark like a sword. "That was your favorite song."

"Don't be ridiculous, sir." Riza squeezes his hand tenderly, careful not to disturb his wound, and wipes at her cheeks with the other. "I always knew when someone else was there."

"Why am I not surprised?" His laugh is throaty, full of life, infectious.

Like the universe, it starts with a bang.

(and it ends with a whisper)

"I couldn't protect you." She finally says.

"Riza—"

"I failed you, and you lost your sight. How can you lead our country without your eyes?" She's horrified at the way her voice is small and weak. How it cracks, the emotion emptying out of it like blood pouring out of wounds. The slash on her neck stings, but it's nothing compared to the pain burrowed deep within her.

It's nothing compared to the terror of knowing how close she was to losing him, and how there was nothing she could've done to stop it.

"I'm so, so sorry, Colonel."

"I don't accept your apology, because it's not needed." He says, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. Through the dark, she can feel his eyes on her, seeing her without seeing her at all. "You are not at fault for what happened to me, so don't you dare believe that you are."

The sound of silence, when they hold each other's hands, sit in the dark, and try to heal each other, is soothing.

"Besides," Roy murmurs. "There are more important things, then seeing."

She feels his hand in hers, listens to him breathe, and knows that he is right.

Soon, his breaths turn steady, and Riza leans back into her chair. She keeps on holding his hand, his wounded, bandaged hand, and stays awake in the darkness.

There's someone she must protect.

But it's hard keeping all the demons at bay.

Bang.

It's easy to remember all of their faces as she peers at them through her scope, listening as her gun fires as the screams begin. A monster with red palms and a stone between his teeth once told her that she must remember all of her fallen, because they would not forget her.

She takes another shot. Understands that monsters are seldom wrong, and that she owes so many dead their lives.

Bang.

"Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye."

Bang.

"Riza Hawkeye."

Bang.

" _Riza._ "

 **Breathe.**

 _Roy._

She wakes up with a gasp, hands trembling, mind racing. The wound on her neck that will no doubt become a scar, burns, and reminds her of who she is.

Reminds her of where she is.

The hospital bed is too small for both of them, but they fit together just right. His arm is flung over her waist, and his head is nestled in the crook of her neck. He's snoring, not that he'll ever admit it.

There's a voice inside her screaming that this is wrong. Unprofessional. Against the rules and against the codes that she has maintained for years, being by his side.

(She doesn't listen.)


End file.
